ny--and it was a revelation to
me to find how numerous the railway arches were in this part of London
and how continually the nature of the road-metal varied.

It was by no means a dull journey this time. The incessant changes of
direction and variations in the character of the road kept me most
uncommonly busy; for I had hardly time to scribble down one entry before
the compass-needle would swing round sharply, showing that we had once
more turned a corner; and I was quite taken by surprise when the
carriage slowed down and turned into the covered way. Very hastily I
scribbled down the final entry ("9.24. S.E. In covered way"), and having
closed the book and slipped it and the board into my pocket, had just
opened out the newspaper when the carriage door was unlocked and opened,
whereupon I unhooked and blew out the lamp and pocketed that too,
reflecting that it might be useful later.

As on the last occasion, Mrs. Schallibaum stood in the open doorway with
a lighted candle. But she was a good deal less self-possessed this time.
In fact she looked rather wild and terrified. Even by the candle-light
I could see that she was very pale and she seemed unable to keep still.
As she gave me the few necessary words of explanation, she fidgeted
incessantly and her hands and feet were in constant movement.

"You had better come up with me at once," she said. "Mr. Graves is much
worse to-night. We will wait not for Mr. Weiss."

Without waiting for a reply she quickly ascended the stairs and I
followed. The room was in much the same condition as before. But the
patient was not. As soon as I entered the room, a soft, rhythmical
gurgle from the bed gave me a very clear warning of danger. I stepped
forward quickly and looked down at the prostrate figure, and the warning
gathered emphasis. The sick man's ghastly face was yet more ghastly; his
eyes were more sunken, his skin more livid; "his nose was as sharp as a
pen," and if he did not "babble of green fields" it was because he
seemed to be beyond even that. If it had been a case of disease, I
should have said at once that he was dying. He had all the appearance of
a man <i>in articulo mortis</i>. Even as it was, feeling convinced that the
case was one of morphine poisoning, I was far from confident that I
should be able to draw him back from the extreme edge of vitality on
which he trembled so insecurely.

"He is very ill? He is dying?"

It was Mrs. Schallibaum's voice; very l